 | Poems (1905) |  |
I. Volume I
1
JUVENILIA.
(1772–1780.)
SOLITUDE.
[September, 1772.]
Free from envy, strife and sorrow,
Jealous doubts, and heart-felt fears;
Free from thoughts of what to-morrow
May o'er-charge the soul with cares—
Jealous doubts, and heart-felt fears;
Free from thoughts of what to-morrow
May o'er-charge the soul with cares—
Live I in a peaceful valley,
By a neighbouring lonely wood;
Giving way to melancholy,
(Joy, when better understood.)
By a neighbouring lonely wood;
Giving way to melancholy,
(Joy, when better understood.)
Near me ancient ruins falling
From a worn-out castle's brow;
Once the greatest [chiefs] installing,
Where are all their honours now?
From a worn-out castle's brow;
Once the greatest [chiefs] installing,
Where are all their honours now?
Here in midnight's gloomy terror
I enjoy the silent night;
Darkness shews the soul her error,
Darkness leads to inward light.
I enjoy the silent night;
Darkness shews the soul her error,
Darkness leads to inward light.
Here I walk in meditation,
Pond'ring all sublunar things,
From the silent soft persuasion,
Which from virtue's basis springs.
Pond'ring all sublunar things,
From the silent soft persuasion,
Which from virtue's basis springs.
What, says truth, are pomp and riches?
Guilded baits to folly lent;
Honour, which the soul bewitches,
When obtain'd, we may repent.
Guilded baits to folly lent;
Honour, which the soul bewitches,
When obtain'd, we may repent.
2
By me plays the stream meand'ring
Slowly, as its waters glide;
And, in gentle murmurs wand'ring,
Lulls to downy rest my pride.
Slowly, as its waters glide;
And, in gentle murmurs wand'ring,
Lulls to downy rest my pride.
Silent as the gloomy graves are
Now the mansions once so loud;
Still and quiet as the brave, or
All the horrors of a croud.
Now the mansions once so loud;
Still and quiet as the brave, or
All the horrors of a croud.
This was once the seat of plunder,
Blood of heroes stain'd the floor;
Heroes, nature's pride and wonder,
Heroes heard of now no more.
Blood of heroes stain'd the floor;
Heroes, nature's pride and wonder,
Heroes heard of now no more.
Owls and ravens haunt the buildings,
Sending gloomy dread to all;
Yellow moss the summit yielding,
Pellitory decks the wall.
Sending gloomy dread to all;
Yellow moss the summit yielding,
Pellitory decks the wall.
Time with rapid speed still wanders,
Journies on an even pace;
Fame of greatest actions squanders,
But perpetuates disgrace.
Journies on an even pace;
Fame of greatest actions squanders,
But perpetuates disgrace.
Sigh not then for pomp or glory;
What avails a heroe's name?
Future times may tell your story,
To your then disgrace and shame.
What avails a heroe's name?
Future times may tell your story,
To your then disgrace and shame.
Chuse some humble cot as this is,
In sweet philosophic ease;
With dame Nature's frugal blisses
Live in joy, and die in peace.
In sweet philosophic ease;
With dame Nature's frugal blisses
Live in joy, and die in peace.
G. Ebbare.
3
A SONG.
[September, 1772.]
I
As Chloe fair, a new-made bride,Sat knotting in an arbour,
To Colin now the damsel ty'd,
No strange affection harbour.
II
“How poor,” says [she, “'s a] single life,“A maid's affected carriage;
“Spent in sighs and inward strife,
“Things unknown in marriage.
III
“Virgins vainly say they're free,“None so much confin'd are;
“Lovers kind and good may be,
“Husbands may be kinder.
IV
“Then shun not wedlock's happy chain,“Nor wantonly still fly man;
“A single life is care and pain,
“Blessings wait on Hymen.”
G. Ebbare.
4
TO EMMA.
View, my fair, the fading flower,
Clad like thee in [beauty's] arms,
Idle pageant of an hour;
Soon shall time its tints devour,
And what are then its charms?
Clad like thee in [beauty's] arms,
Idle pageant of an hour;
Soon shall time its tints devour,
And what are then its charms?
Early pluck'd, it might produce
A remedy to mortal pain,
Afford a balmy cordial juice,
That might celestial ease diffuse,
Nor blossom quite in vain.
A remedy to mortal pain,
Afford a balmy cordial juice,
That might celestial ease diffuse,
Nor blossom quite in vain.
So 'tis with thee, my Emma fair,
If nature's law's unpaid,
If thou refuse our vows to hear
And steel thy heart to ev'ry pray'r,
A cruel frozen maid.
If nature's law's unpaid,
If thou refuse our vows to hear
And steel thy heart to ev'ry pray'r,
A cruel frozen maid.
But yield, my fair one, yield to love,
And joys unnumber'd find,
In Cupid's mystic circle move,
Eternal raptures thou shalt prove,
Which leave no pang behind.
And joys unnumber'd find,
In Cupid's mystic circle move,
Eternal raptures thou shalt prove,
Which leave no pang behind.
G. Ebbaac. Suffolk, Oct. 15, 1772.
‘Multa cadunt inter calicem supremaque labra.’
5
DESPAIR.
[November, 1772.]
Heu mihi!
Quod nullis amor medicabilis herbis.
Ovid. [?]
Quod nullis amor medicabilis herbis.
Ovid. [?]
Tyrsis and Damon.
D.
Begin, my Tyrsis; songs shall sooth our cares,
Allay our sorrows, and dispel our fears;
Shall glad thy heart, and bring its native peace,
And bid thy grief its weighty influence cease.
No more those tears of woe, dear shepherd, shed,
Nor ever mourn the lov'd Cordelia dead.
T.
In vain, my Damon, urge thy fond request
To still the troubles of an anxious breast:
Cordelia's gone! and now what pain is life
Without my fair, my friend, my lovely wife?
Hope! chearful hope! to distant climes is fled,
And Nature mourns the fair Cordelia dead.
D.
But can thy tears re-animate the earth,
Or give to sordid dust a second birth?
Mistaken mortal! learn to bear the ill,
Nor let that canker, grief, thy pleasures kill.
No more in Sorrow's sable garb array'd,
Still [mourn] thy lov'd, thy lost Cordelia dead.
T.
Can I forget the fairest of her kind,
Beauteous in person, fairer still in mind?
Can I forget she sooth'd my heart to rest,
And still'd the troubl'd motion in my breast?
Can I, by soothing song or friendship led,
Forget to mourn my lov'd Cordelia dead?
6
Another fair may court thee to her arms,
Display her graces, and reveal her charms;
May catch thy wand'ring eye, dispel thy woe,
And give to sorrow final overthrow.
No longer, then, thy heart-felt anguish shed,
Nor mourn, in solitude, Cordelia dead.
T.
Sooner shall lions fierce forget to roam,
And peaceful walk with gentle lambs at home;
Sooner shall Discord love her ancient hate,
And Peace and Love with Rage incorporate;
Sooner shall turtles with the sparrow wed,
Than I forget my lov'd Cordelia dead.
D.
Must then Dorintha ever sigh in vain,
And Cælia breathe to echoing groves her pain?
Must Chloe hope in vain to steel that heart
In which each nymph would gladly share a part?
Must these, dejected shepherd, be betray'd,
And victims fall, because Cordelia's dead?
T.
By those who love, my friend, it stands confest,
No second flame can fill a lover's breast:
For me no more the idle scenes of life
Shall vex with envy, hatred, noise, or strife;
But here, in melancholy form array'd,
I'll ever mourn my lov'd Cordelia dead.
G. Ebbare.
7
CUPID.
[November, 1772.]
Whoe'er thou art, thy master know;
He has been, is, or shall be so.
He has been, is, or shall be so.
What is he, who clad in arms,
Hither seems in haste to move,
Bringing with him soft alarms,
Fears the heart of man to prove;
Yet attended too by charms—
Is he Cupid, God of Love?
Hither seems in haste to move,
Bringing with him soft alarms,
Fears the heart of man to prove;
Yet attended too by charms—
Is he Cupid, God of Love?
Yes, it is, behold him nigh,
Odd compound of ease and smart;
Near him [stands] a nymph, whose sigh
Grief and joy, and love impart;
Pleasure dances in her eye,
Yet she seems to grieve at heart.
Odd compound of ease and smart;
Near him [stands] a nymph, whose sigh
Grief and joy, and love impart;
Pleasure dances in her eye,
Yet she seems to grieve at heart.
Lo! a quiver by his side,
Arm'd with darts, a fatal store!
See him, with a haughty pride,
Ages, sexes, all devour;
Yet, as pleasure is describ'd,
Glad we meet the tyrant's power.
Arm'd with darts, a fatal store!
See him, with a haughty pride,
Ages, sexes, all devour;
Yet, as pleasure is describ'd,
Glad we meet the tyrant's power.
Doubts and cares before him go,
Canker'd jealousy behind;
Round about him spells he'll throw,
Scatt'ring with each gust of wind
On the motley crew below,
Who, like him, are render'd blind.
Canker'd jealousy behind;
Round about him spells he'll throw,
Scatt'ring with each gust of wind
On the motley crew below,
Who, like him, are render'd blind.
This is love! a tyrant kind,
Giving extacy and pain;
Fond deluder of the mind,
Ever feigning not to feign;
Whom no savage laws can bind,
None escape his pleasing chain.
Giving extacy and pain;
Fond deluder of the mind,
Ever feigning not to feign;
Whom no savage laws can bind,
None escape his pleasing chain.
G. Ebbare.
8
SONG.
[November, 1772.]
Cease to bid me not to sing.
Spite of Fate I'll tune my lyre:
Hither, god of music, bring
Food to feed the gentle fire;
And on Pægasean wing
Mount my soul enraptur'd higher.
Spite of Fate I'll tune my lyre:
Hither, god of music, bring
Food to feed the gentle fire;
And on Pægasean wing
Mount my soul enraptur'd higher.
Some there are who'd curb the mind,
And would blast the springing bays;
All essays are vain, they'll find,
Nought shall drown the muse's lays,
Nought shall curb a free-born mind,
Nought shall damp Apollo's praise.
And would blast the springing bays;
All essays are vain, they'll find,
Nought shall drown the muse's lays,
Nought shall curb a free-born mind,
Nought shall damp Apollo's praise.
G. Ebbare.
[ON THE DEATH OF WILLIAM SPRINGALL LEVETT.]
[1774.]
What though no trophies peer above his dust,
Nor sculptured conquests deck his sober bust;
What though no earthly thunders sound his name,
Death gives him conquest, and our sorrows fame:
One sigh reflection heaves, but shuns excess—
More should we mourn him, did we love him less.
37
JUVENILIA
44
THE SACRAMENT.
Aldborough, 1779.
O sacred gift of God to man,
A faith that looks above,
And sees the deep amazing plan
Of sanctifying love.
A faith that looks above,
And sees the deep amazing plan
Of sanctifying love.
Thou dear and yet tremendous God,
Whose glory pride reviles;
How did'st thou change thy awful rod
To pard'ning grace and smiles!
Whose glory pride reviles;
How did'st thou change thy awful rod
To pard'ning grace and smiles!
Shut up with sin, with shame below,
I trust, this bondage past,
A great, a glorious change to know,
And to be bless'd at last.
I trust, this bondage past,
A great, a glorious change to know,
And to be bless'd at last.
I do believe, that, God of light!
Thou didst to earth descend,
With Satan and with Sin to fight—
Our great, our only friend.
Thou didst to earth descend,
With Satan and with Sin to fight—
Our great, our only friend.
I know thou did'st ordain for me,
Thy creature, bread and wine;
The depth of grace I cannot see,
But worship the design.
Thy creature, bread and wine;
The depth of grace I cannot see,
But worship the design.
47
MIDNIGHT.
A POEM.
[About 1779.]
Life is a Dream;—it steals upon the Man,
He knows not how, but thinks himself awake;
'Tis like a Bubble dancing on the Deep,
That turns its glossy surface to the Sun,
Catches a Rainbow-Vest, and sparkles, proud
Of momentary Being—then it breaks—
To some tremendous Billow drops a prey,
And joins th' eternal Source, from whence it sprang.
He knows not how, but thinks himself awake;
'Tis like a Bubble dancing on the Deep,
That turns its glossy surface to the Sun,
Catches a Rainbow-Vest, and sparkles, proud
Of momentary Being—then it breaks—
To some tremendous Billow drops a prey,
And joins th' eternal Source, from whence it sprang.
But ah! how dismal are the Dreams of Care,
How much of Care do e'en the happiest dream,
And some—hard Fortune theirs—of Care alone.
How much of Care do e'en the happiest dream,
And some—hard Fortune theirs—of Care alone.
Forgive me then, ye Wise, who seem awake,
A Midnight Song, and let your Censure sleep;
While Sorrow's Theme, and Contemplation sad,
And Soul-dilating Fancy's pensive Flight
Through Star-crown'd Gloom, I sing; inspir'd by her,
Whom Virtue loves, whom Wisdom; from whose Touch
Grief borrows Charm, and Expectation sits
On the cold Bosom of the Tomb serene.
Pale Melancholy she; nor softer shines
The sabled Fair, her Votress, o'er the Grave
Of the departed Lover; nor more mild
Sits yonder Moon's chaste ray upon the Rock,
That, rising from the Bosom of the Wave,
Flings Awe on Night. Thou Grave-enamour'd Fair,
Attune my Song, and, languid as thou art,
The Song shall please; and I will paint the Dream
That Midnight gave thee, when with wintry Wing
She swept thy Grot, and shook her grisled Dew
Upon the frozen Garment of the pool;
And I will drown mine Eye in Tears like thine,
And give my hollow Cheek a dewy pale,
And dress me in the Livery of the Dead;
And o'er their dreary Mansions walk with thee;
Bidding a brief Farewell to little Cares,
And Visionary Honour's frantic Sons,
Who feed on Adulation—let them feed,
Till the full Soul disdains the nauseous Trash,
And sickens with Repletion.—
A Midnight Song, and let your Censure sleep;
While Sorrow's Theme, and Contemplation sad,
And Soul-dilating Fancy's pensive Flight
Through Star-crown'd Gloom, I sing; inspir'd by her,
Whom Virtue loves, whom Wisdom; from whose Touch
Grief borrows Charm, and Expectation sits
On the cold Bosom of the Tomb serene.
Pale Melancholy she; nor softer shines
The sabled Fair, her Votress, o'er the Grave
Of the departed Lover; nor more mild
Sits yonder Moon's chaste ray upon the Rock,
That, rising from the Bosom of the Wave,
Flings Awe on Night. Thou Grave-enamour'd Fair,
Attune my Song, and, languid as thou art,
The Song shall please; and I will paint the Dream
That Midnight gave thee, when with wintry Wing
48
Upon the frozen Garment of the pool;
And I will drown mine Eye in Tears like thine,
And give my hollow Cheek a dewy pale,
And dress me in the Livery of the Dead;
And o'er their dreary Mansions walk with thee;
Bidding a brief Farewell to little Cares,
And Visionary Honour's frantic Sons,
Who feed on Adulation—let them feed,
Till the full Soul disdains the nauseous Trash,
And sickens with Repletion.—
I will ask,
No Voice of Fame to spread abroad my Song,
Nor Court Applause—[Meonides] had Fame,
And with her poverty and pain and Care,
Attendants on the Bard-deluding Nymph,
Who mock the Babbling of her loudest Note;
From Heaven he stole Description, Nature's Key,
And loosen'd into Light her Mysteries;
Ambition started when he sang of War,
In Language all her own; and o'er his Lyre
Hung Devastation, glowing at the Sound,
And frantic for the Field; and there Distress,
As if enamour'd of the Mighty Man,
With cruel Constancy repaid his Muse;
And chiding Fame, by whispering to the Soul
Domestic Ills, she [triumph'd] over praise,
And, through th' untasted Plaudit of a World,
Led the blind Bard in Sadness to the Tomb.—
No Voice of Fame to spread abroad my Song,
Nor Court Applause—[Meonides] had Fame,
And with her poverty and pain and Care,
Attendants on the Bard-deluding Nymph,
Who mock the Babbling of her loudest Note;
From Heaven he stole Description, Nature's Key,
And loosen'd into Light her Mysteries;
Ambition started when he sang of War,
In Language all her own; and o'er his Lyre
Hung Devastation, glowing at the Sound,
And frantic for the Field; and there Distress,
As if enamour'd of the Mighty Man,
With cruel Constancy repaid his Muse;
And chiding Fame, by whispering to the Soul
Domestic Ills, she [triumph'd] over praise,
And, through th' untasted Plaudit of a World,
Led the blind Bard in Sadness to the Tomb.—
I ask no Mantuan Muse with silver Wing
To bear me in some rapid even flight
Thro' distant Ages, tho' so sweet her Bard
That yet the Traveller o'er each Hill he sang,
Transported, [wanders], feeling power divine
New-rising on his Soul to chain its Cares.
Imagination turns the Tide of Time,
Unwinds each year, and, thro' reviving Light,
And thro' the vandal Gloom of Centuries drear,
And falling Rome works back, till Nature smiles
And [Tityrus] sings anew; then laughs each Scene,
And cloudless skies appear, and Beachen Boughs
That Shade the [Nereids] listning from their Streams.—
To bear me in some rapid even flight
Thro' distant Ages, tho' so sweet her Bard
That yet the Traveller o'er each Hill he sang,
Transported, [wanders], feeling power divine
New-rising on his Soul to chain its Cares.
Imagination turns the Tide of Time,
Unwinds each year, and, thro' reviving Light,
And thro' the vandal Gloom of Centuries drear,
49
And [Tityrus] sings anew; then laughs each Scene,
And cloudless skies appear, and Beachen Boughs
That Shade the [Nereids] listning from their Streams.—
Nor Milton's muse I boast, to whom the Morn
And all her rosy Train, and blazing Noon,
Dipping his fiery Tresses in the Stream
Of Pison, bank'd with Gold, and tepid Eve,
Who in her soft recesses cradles Thought,
And Worlds unsung pay Homage, and the Suns,
From which the Light yet wings its rapid Way,
Nor on the gloomy Bosom of the Earth,
Sleeps from the Labour of its long Career.
And all her rosy Train, and blazing Noon,
Dipping his fiery Tresses in the Stream
Of Pison, bank'd with Gold, and tepid Eve,
Who in her soft recesses cradles Thought,
And Worlds unsung pay Homage, and the Suns,
From which the Light yet wings its rapid Way,
Nor on the gloomy Bosom of the Earth,
Sleeps from the Labour of its long Career.
Nor feels my Bosom that ambiguous Flame,
That now from Skies, and now from central Gloom,
Shot devious o'er the fervent Page of Young—
Young, Thought's Œconomist, who wove reproof
Her [gloomiest] Vest, and yet a Vest that shone;
Whose Invitation was assault: he found
The World asleep and rent its drowsy Ear.
That now from Skies, and now from central Gloom,
Shot devious o'er the fervent Page of Young—
Young, Thought's Œconomist, who wove reproof
Her [gloomiest] Vest, and yet a Vest that shone;
Whose Invitation was assault: he found
The World asleep and rent its drowsy Ear.
Nor shares my Soul the soft enchanting Stream,
The lambent Blaze, that [Thomson] knew to blend
With his Creation; when he led the Eye
Through the [year's Verdant] Gate, the budding Spring;
And from the Willow o'er the tuneless Stream,
And from the [Aspen] Rind, ere yet her Leaf
Unfolding flicker'd, and from limpid rills
Unmantled, cull'd Simplicity and Grace.
Ah! who with mingled Modesty and Love
So paints the bathing Maid; who so describes
The new-mown Meadow, and the new shorn Lamb?
Hard is the Task to strip the Muse's Wing
Of Learning's plume, yet leave enough to charm;
But this was thine! Grace beautify'd thy page,
And led thy weary plowman from the field,
And spread thy simple Foliage on the Sod,
And hung thy ponderous Treasures on the Bough,
And rov'd with thy Lavinia where the Winds,
Rustling along the golden [Valley], bear
The Grain just dropping from its withering Glume.
And Winter too was thine! permit me there
To bear a part, for mine are wintry Thoughts.—
The lambent Blaze, that [Thomson] knew to blend
With his Creation; when he led the Eye
Through the [year's Verdant] Gate, the budding Spring;
And from the Willow o'er the tuneless Stream,
And from the [Aspen] Rind, ere yet her Leaf
Unfolding flicker'd, and from limpid rills
Unmantled, cull'd Simplicity and Grace.
Ah! who with mingled Modesty and Love
So paints the bathing Maid; who so describes
The new-mown Meadow, and the new shorn Lamb?
Hard is the Task to strip the Muse's Wing
Of Learning's plume, yet leave enough to charm;
But this was thine! Grace beautify'd thy page,
And led thy weary plowman from the field,
And spread thy simple Foliage on the Sod,
And hung thy ponderous Treasures on the Bough,
50
Rustling along the golden [Valley], bear
The Grain just dropping from its withering Glume.
And Winter too was thine! permit me there
To bear a part, for mine are wintry Thoughts.—
Nor dare I hope his Dignity and Fire,
Who led the soul thro' Nature, and display'd
Imagination's pleasures to its Eye;
His the blest Task, a [gloomier] task is mine;
His were the Smiles of Fortune, mine her Frowns;
And when her Frowns and Smiles shall charm alike,
At that dread Hour when the officious Friend,
Stammering his Idiot-Comfort, soothes amiss,
May Joys he painted dart upon the Soul,
And, more than Fancy pointing to the Skies,
Whisper a noble [Challenge] to the Tomb.—
Tho' far behind my Song, my Hope the same,
And not behind my Song; with Vulgar souls,
Both sentenc'd to Contempt—unletter'd pride—
Grins the pale Bard Disgrace alike to him
Who soars above or labours in the Clouds,
Who travells the sublime, or dives profound
In the Wild Chaos of a School-boy's Dream:
He, tyed to some poor Spot, where e'en the rill
That owns him Lord untasted steals away,
Hallows a Clod, and spurns Immensity.
Who led the soul thro' Nature, and display'd
Imagination's pleasures to its Eye;
His the blest Task, a [gloomier] task is mine;
His were the Smiles of Fortune, mine her Frowns;
And when her Frowns and Smiles shall charm alike,
At that dread Hour when the officious Friend,
Stammering his Idiot-Comfort, soothes amiss,
May Joys he painted dart upon the Soul,
And, more than Fancy pointing to the Skies,
Whisper a noble [Challenge] to the Tomb.—
Tho' far behind my Song, my Hope the same,
And not behind my Song; with Vulgar souls,
Both sentenc'd to Contempt—unletter'd pride—
Grins the pale Bard Disgrace alike to him
Who soars above or labours in the Clouds,
Who travells the sublime, or dives profound
In the Wild Chaos of a School-boy's Dream:
He, tyed to some poor Spot, where e'en the rill
That owns him Lord untasted steals away,
Hallows a Clod, and spurns Immensity.
Ye gentle, nameless Bards, who float a-down
The soft smoothe Stream of silver poesy
And dream your pretty Dreams, permit my Song
Cold inspiration from a Winter's Night.
This is no Stanza'd Birth-Day of his Grace,
Your patron; no sad Satire of the Lord,
Your Foe; no Dunciad arm'd with power,
To dive into the Depths of your profound,
And with a vile assemblage gather'd there
Whip the pale Moonshine from your with'ring Bays.—
The soft smoothe Stream of silver poesy
And dream your pretty Dreams, permit my Song
Cold inspiration from a Winter's Night.
This is no Stanza'd Birth-Day of his Grace,
Your patron; no sad Satire of the Lord,
Your Foe; no Dunciad arm'd with power,
To dive into the Depths of your profound,
And with a vile assemblage gather'd there
Whip the pale Moonshine from your with'ring Bays.—
Is there, who sick of Pleasure's daily Draught,
In repetition mawkish, or who tir'd
Thinks Life an Idiot's Tale? or whom the Hand
Of [Disappointment] snatches from the Vice
That waits on power? or who has lost a friend,
And mingles with the dew that wets his Tomb
A frequent Tear? or who by Nature's mild
And melancholy Bias from the Womb
Was fashioned for the View of serious Things,
And with the sober chiding of his eye,
Freezes the [Current] within Laughter's Cheek,
And awes the Voice of loud Garrulity?
Let him approach, and I will tell my Soul,
EUGENIO rises from the Grave, and give
The Living Youth the Manners of my Friend.
From the Enshrouded Tenant of the Sod
I'll call the speaking Eye, the open Heart,
The Tongue belov'd of Knowledge, and the Form
That, could Deceit put on, Grey-headed Guile,
That judges from his own embosom'd Guilt,
Would yet be won, and lend a ductile Ear.
In repetition mawkish, or who tir'd
51
Of [Disappointment] snatches from the Vice
That waits on power? or who has lost a friend,
And mingles with the dew that wets his Tomb
A frequent Tear? or who by Nature's mild
And melancholy Bias from the Womb
Was fashioned for the View of serious Things,
And with the sober chiding of his eye,
Freezes the [Current] within Laughter's Cheek,
And awes the Voice of loud Garrulity?
Let him approach, and I will tell my Soul,
EUGENIO rises from the Grave, and give
The Living Youth the Manners of my Friend.
From the Enshrouded Tenant of the Sod
I'll call the speaking Eye, the open Heart,
The Tongue belov'd of Knowledge, and the Form
That, could Deceit put on, Grey-headed Guile,
That judges from his own embosom'd Guilt,
Would yet be won, and lend a ductile Ear.
Together, while the [Echo's] feeble Sound,
Halting in frozen regions of the Air,
Mocks our slow Step, we from the Mountain's Brow,
Will look around and court the Stars of Heav'n
For as much Light as guides the Miser's hand,
To grasp Delusion in her Guise of Gold.—
Halting in frozen regions of the Air,
Mocks our slow Step, we from the Mountain's Brow,
Will look around and court the Stars of Heav'n
For as much Light as guides the Miser's hand,
To grasp Delusion in her Guise of Gold.—
The Morn is banish'd now, nor down the Hill
Slopes the faint Shadow; now in other Realms
She drinks the Dew that on the Vi'lets Lip
Slept thro' the Night; and, with her golden Dart
Bays the pale Moon, retiring from the View.
In other Climates, from the rays of Noon
Embower'd, Content lies sleeping; and the palm
Drinking the fiery Stream, plays o'er the Brow
Of shadied Wearyness; and distant now
Draws meek-ey'd Eve, with even hand and slow,
The fringèd Curtain of the setting Sun,
Ting'd with the golden Splendour he bequeaths,
The brief, but beauteous Legacy of Light.
'Tis Midnight round us, canopied by Dim
And twinkling Orbs that, gleaming ghastly, gild
The restless Bosom of the briny Deep.
The fiery Meteor in the foggy Air
Rides emulous of Fame and apes the Star,
Till, in the Compass of a Maiden's Wish,
It mocks the Eye, and sheds an [igneous] Stream,
Within the bosom of Oblivion.
Slopes the faint Shadow; now in other Realms
She drinks the Dew that on the Vi'lets Lip
Slept thro' the Night; and, with her golden Dart
Bays the pale Moon, retiring from the View.
In other Climates, from the rays of Noon
Embower'd, Content lies sleeping; and the palm
Drinking the fiery Stream, plays o'er the Brow
Of shadied Wearyness; and distant now
Draws meek-ey'd Eve, with even hand and slow,
The fringèd Curtain of the setting Sun,
Ting'd with the golden Splendour he bequeaths,
The brief, but beauteous Legacy of Light.
52
And twinkling Orbs that, gleaming ghastly, gild
The restless Bosom of the briny Deep.
The fiery Meteor in the foggy Air
Rides emulous of Fame and apes the Star,
Till, in the Compass of a Maiden's Wish,
It mocks the Eye, and sheds an [igneous] Stream,
Within the bosom of Oblivion.
The Sea-Bird sleeps upon yon hoary Cliff,
Unconscious of the Surge that grates below
The frozen Shore; and Icy Friendship binds,
As Danger Wretches Destitute of Soul,
The wave-worn pebbles, which the ebbing Tide,
Left with the Salt-Flood shining; dark is now
The awfull Deep, and o'er the Seaman's Grave
Rolls pouring, and forbids the lucid Stream,
That silvers oft the way, a shining Vest,
Sprung from the scaly people's putrid Dead,
Hanging unhers'd upon the Coral Bough;
Or, as the Sage explains, from Stores of Light
Imprizon'd in the Bowels of the Deep,
And now escaping, when the parent Sun
Flings [out] his fiery Noon with Beam direct,
Upon the Glossy Surface of the wave.
Unconscious of the Surge that grates below
The frozen Shore; and Icy Friendship binds,
As Danger Wretches Destitute of Soul,
The wave-worn pebbles, which the ebbing Tide,
Left with the Salt-Flood shining; dark is now
The awfull Deep, and o'er the Seaman's Grave
Rolls pouring, and forbids the lucid Stream,
That silvers oft the way, a shining Vest,
Sprung from the scaly people's putrid Dead,
Hanging unhers'd upon the Coral Bough;
Or, as the Sage explains, from Stores of Light
Imprizon'd in the Bowels of the Deep,
And now escaping, when the parent Sun
Flings [out] his fiery Noon with Beam direct,
Upon the Glossy Surface of the wave.
Cold Vapour, falling on the putrid Fen,
Condenses grey, and wraps with glassy net
The wintry Fern, and throws along the Heath
A Hoary Garment, nor less fair than Spring
Drops on the Sod, of Texture near as frail.
The icy Atoms thro' the burden'd Air
Shed Languor, and enwrap with double Fleece
The Slumbering Fold; they cloathe the knotted oak,
Stretching its naked arms, as if to chide,
With [age's] stern and touching Eloquence
The ruthless Skies for Summer's slow return.
The winds that in converging Furrows plough
The freezing pool, and shake the [rattling] Wood,
Are arm'd with pain, and vitrified their Wings.
In Winter's Livery sleeps this earthly Scene—
And, save where Ocean rolls his restless Flood,
The horizontal Eye grasps all things grey.—
Condenses grey, and wraps with glassy net
The wintry Fern, and throws along the Heath
A Hoary Garment, nor less fair than Spring
Drops on the Sod, of Texture near as frail.
The icy Atoms thro' the burden'd Air
Shed Languor, and enwrap with double Fleece
The Slumbering Fold; they cloathe the knotted oak,
Stretching its naked arms, as if to chide,
With [age's] stern and touching Eloquence
The ruthless Skies for Summer's slow return.
The winds that in converging Furrows plough
The freezing pool, and shake the [rattling] Wood,
Are arm'd with pain, and vitrified their Wings.
53
And, save where Ocean rolls his restless Flood,
The horizontal Eye grasps all things grey.—
Eugenio, see—for thou shalt bear His Name
Who sleeps beneath yon Sod, and was my Friend—
The Grave o'er which I weep; and give not thou
A Glance contemptuous to the grassy Tomb;
For oft the vaulted Chambers of the Dead,
Where Vanity amid the Mouldring Scrolls
Of Genealogy and mingled Bones
Moves in a formal join'd Solemnity,
House wretched Remnants of degenerate Man;
And oft the Green Turf's temporary swell,
Sepulchring all that Virtue leaves the Earth,
Stirs busy Memory to con o'er Deeds
Of high Renown in Heaven, the Deeds of Love;
Which in th' eternal Records of the Just,
Are written with an Angels pen, and sung
With [Symphony] of Harp, and there is Joy
And Gratulation with the Sons of God.—
Who sleeps beneath yon Sod, and was my Friend—
The Grave o'er which I weep; and give not thou
A Glance contemptuous to the grassy Tomb;
For oft the vaulted Chambers of the Dead,
Where Vanity amid the Mouldring Scrolls
Of Genealogy and mingled Bones
Moves in a formal join'd Solemnity,
House wretched Remnants of degenerate Man;
And oft the Green Turf's temporary swell,
Sepulchring all that Virtue leaves the Earth,
Stirs busy Memory to con o'er Deeds
Of high Renown in Heaven, the Deeds of Love;
Which in th' eternal Records of the Just,
Are written with an Angels pen, and sung
With [Symphony] of Harp, and there is Joy
And Gratulation with the Sons of God.—
Alas! how chang'd the Verdure of this [Scene],
How lost the Flowers, how winter-struck the Blade!
No more the wild Thyme wings the passing Gale
With Fragrance, nor invites the roving Bee
To taste its Sweets—and why this direful waste
Of Verdure? why this Vegetable Death?
Did all with Man commit mysterious Sin?
All in rebellion rise?—and tepid Meads,
And Lawns irriguous, and the blooming field,
And Hills, and Vallies, and intangling Woods,
Spurn God's Command and drink forbidden Dew?—
How lost the Flowers, how winter-struck the Blade!
No more the wild Thyme wings the passing Gale
With Fragrance, nor invites the roving Bee
To taste its Sweets—and why this direful waste
Of Verdure? why this Vegetable Death?
Did all with Man commit mysterious Sin?
All in rebellion rise?—and tepid Meads,
And Lawns irriguous, and the blooming field,
And Hills, and Vallies, and intangling Woods,
Spurn God's Command and drink forbidden Dew?—
There was a Time, and Poets paint it fair,
(A wild, uncertain, musing, madning Race)
A Golden Age, when wealth was only Love:
Not even Fancy dreamt a Dream of Care,
The Sward was not—and Desolation slept
Till by a Crime awaken'd; not e'en Song
Wore Semblatude of War;—Eternal Spring
From the unfurrow'd Field the heavy Ear
Drew smiling, and the undistinguish'd year
Brought willing plenty forth, nor scorn'd she then
A Common Call, enamour'd of her plough.
The Clinging Vine prest down the branching Elm
E'en to the Earth, and in her verdant Lap
The tributary Grape, yet growing, laid.
The simple Shepherd pip'd a silvan Lay;
Or, while the Fair who charm'd him prest beside,
The listning Vale sung hymeneal Strains,
And woo'd with melting Themes a ten years' Bride.
(A wild, uncertain, musing, madning Race)
A Golden Age, when wealth was only Love:
Not even Fancy dreamt a Dream of Care,
The Sward was not—and Desolation slept
Till by a Crime awaken'd; not e'en Song
54
From the unfurrow'd Field the heavy Ear
Drew smiling, and the undistinguish'd year
Brought willing plenty forth, nor scorn'd she then
A Common Call, enamour'd of her plough.
The Clinging Vine prest down the branching Elm
E'en to the Earth, and in her verdant Lap
The tributary Grape, yet growing, laid.
The simple Shepherd pip'd a silvan Lay;
Or, while the Fair who charm'd him prest beside,
The listning Vale sung hymeneal Strains,
And woo'd with melting Themes a ten years' Bride.
Eugenio, thus they taught; and after this
A silver age arose, and hers the Scenes
Not Gold could purchase now: when Vice, afraid,
Hid his pale Visage in the womb of Night,
And blush'd, if but a Moon-beam met his Eye.
The Seasons alter'd, but the Change was slow,
And Man forgot they chang'd; then Care began
To plow his Furrows on the Brow of Age,
And Falshood from the female Eye to steal
The silent Tear; then prudence took her Seat
Within the Soul, and reign'd in Virtue's room.
Then Vanity, a Child, first learn'd to bend
The ready Ear to tales of her own praise;
Nor knew she yet the Gross of Flattery,
But was, as Modesty is now, afraid
The Verse she lov'd should tickle her too much.
Then young Ambition wore his Russet Gown
Only in better Form, and Infant pomp
But saw his Garden smile in richer Bloom,
And propt his Cottage with a taller pier.—
A silver age arose, and hers the Scenes
Not Gold could purchase now: when Vice, afraid,
Hid his pale Visage in the womb of Night,
And blush'd, if but a Moon-beam met his Eye.
The Seasons alter'd, but the Change was slow,
And Man forgot they chang'd; then Care began
To plow his Furrows on the Brow of Age,
And Falshood from the female Eye to steal
The silent Tear; then prudence took her Seat
Within the Soul, and reign'd in Virtue's room.
Then Vanity, a Child, first learn'd to bend
The ready Ear to tales of her own praise;
Nor knew she yet the Gross of Flattery,
But was, as Modesty is now, afraid
The Verse she lov'd should tickle her too much.
Then young Ambition wore his Russet Gown
Only in better Form, and Infant pomp
But saw his Garden smile in richer Bloom,
And propt his Cottage with a taller pier.—
Since these, dread Sorrow, consequent of Sin
And foul Deformity, the Breast of Man
And the Sad Surface of the Earth enrobes.—
And foul Deformity, the Breast of Man
And the Sad Surface of the Earth enrobes.—
From the Dark Bosom of the Giant Guilt
Leak'd all Things terrible, and Murder first,
Who proul'd about the Earth and groan'd for Blood;
And treatchery, breaking up the League of Friends
And rending Nature's Bond, a solemn writ,
With Heaven's own Seal imprest: and Avarice pale,
A Woolfish-Visag'd Fiend [and] fang'd with Care.
Hence War, in all her guilty Majesty
In slow pomp riding o'er a [threaten'd] Land,
With all the murderous Whispers of the Camp
And shout of Ambush, castigates the Night.—
Leak'd all Things terrible, and Murder first,
55
And treatchery, breaking up the League of Friends
And rending Nature's Bond, a solemn writ,
With Heaven's own Seal imprest: and Avarice pale,
A Woolfish-Visag'd Fiend [and] fang'd with Care.
Hence War, in all her guilty Majesty
In slow pomp riding o'er a [threaten'd] Land,
With all the murderous Whispers of the Camp
And shout of Ambush, castigates the Night.—
And hence the Spirits from th' Abyss of Hell,
That prey upon Mankind.—Eugenio, give
Thy Soul's pure Eye, that sees immortal things,
To the grim Spectres hovering in the Air,
And we will mark the dreary Train that vex
The mortal Man, and ride with ghostly pomp,
Frowning upon the Midnight's murky Wing.—
That prey upon Mankind.—Eugenio, give
Thy Soul's pure Eye, that sees immortal things,
To the grim Spectres hovering in the Air,
And we will mark the dreary Train that vex
The mortal Man, and ride with ghostly pomp,
Frowning upon the Midnight's murky Wing.—
And who is he, from yonder antient roof,
With Horror in his Eye, who steals around
Each hollow Isle; and with a fierce Embrace
Clasps the encrumbling ruin? 'Tis the Foe
Of Men and Virtue, Eldest-born of Night,
And Superstition call'd, a Giant fond
Of Dead-Men's Bones, and vagrant [Rottenness],
Denied a Tomb; around him turns the wheel,
And faggots blaze; and prizons, with a Groan
Resounding loud, affright the Coward Soul
From Reason's Law, and Nature's. Hark! he Mourns
The fretted Abby where he reign'd Secure,
With Indolence and Folly, social pair,
Nurses to shrine-enamour'd Zeal, who built
The Cavern deep and dark, in which he chain'd
The drowsy Nine; who yet at Morn or Eve
Hail'd the arising or descending Sun
With gothic Note, harmoniously sad.
But now no more the Votive Maiden clasps
The clay cold Saint, and mingles with her Vow
The Heaven-reproaching Sigh; in these blest realms
No more the power-compelling Bigot plucks
The robe from Kings, and consecrates the Tomb
That hides a Brother-Saint with Zeal-enforc'd
And ceremonious Solemnity.—
With Horror in his Eye, who steals around
Each hollow Isle; and with a fierce Embrace
Clasps the encrumbling ruin? 'Tis the Foe
Of Men and Virtue, Eldest-born of Night,
And Superstition call'd, a Giant fond
Of Dead-Men's Bones, and vagrant [Rottenness],
Denied a Tomb; around him turns the wheel,
And faggots blaze; and prizons, with a Groan
Resounding loud, affright the Coward Soul
From Reason's Law, and Nature's. Hark! he Mourns
The fretted Abby where he reign'd Secure,
With Indolence and Folly, social pair,
Nurses to shrine-enamour'd Zeal, who built
The Cavern deep and dark, in which he chain'd
The drowsy Nine; who yet at Morn or Eve
Hail'd the arising or descending Sun
With gothic Note, harmoniously sad.
But now no more the Votive Maiden clasps
The clay cold Saint, and mingles with her Vow
The Heaven-reproaching Sigh; in these blest realms
No more the power-compelling Bigot plucks
56
That hides a Brother-Saint with Zeal-enforc'd
And ceremonious Solemnity.—
O'er the Opaque of Nature and of Night
Fair Truth rose smiling, with the Heaven-born Art
That shews the Man his Fellow's Thought imprest
Within the Volumes' varied Character,
Where to the wondering Eye the Soul reveals
Her Store immortal. Hence a Bacon shone
And Newton thro' the World, and Light on Light
Pour'd on the human Breast, as when of old,
From the Eternal Fountains of the God,
Etherial Streams assail'd the groaning Mass;
Then Chaos and the Sun's large Eye survey'd
The first [distinguish'd] Forms of mortal Things,
Till then in Congregate Confusion hurl'd
Without a Station, and without a Name.
Then Wit began, the younger-born of Light,
To sport in hallow'd Cloysters, where the arm
Of Superstition, red with slaughter'd Foes,
Held high the Torch of Discord. Stroke on Stroke
The smiling Boy repeated with his Sword,
Sharp as the [Whirlwind's] Eye: yet fear'd the fight,
And oft drew back, his silver wing born down
By the foul Breath of Malice; till at length
The Monster, rousing in Collected Might,
Shook with his Roar the Earth, and at the Sound
Red Tyranny, and Torture, with his Limbs
Disjoint, and Ignorance that blows the blast
For every Fire, prepar'd each bloody Form
Of Death, and woo'd Destruction for her Wheel.—
Fair Truth rose smiling, with the Heaven-born Art
That shews the Man his Fellow's Thought imprest
Within the Volumes' varied Character,
Where to the wondering Eye the Soul reveals
Her Store immortal. Hence a Bacon shone
And Newton thro' the World, and Light on Light
Pour'd on the human Breast, as when of old,
From the Eternal Fountains of the God,
Etherial Streams assail'd the groaning Mass;
Then Chaos and the Sun's large Eye survey'd
The first [distinguish'd] Forms of mortal Things,
Till then in Congregate Confusion hurl'd
Without a Station, and without a Name.
Then Wit began, the younger-born of Light,
To sport in hallow'd Cloysters, where the arm
Of Superstition, red with slaughter'd Foes,
Held high the Torch of Discord. Stroke on Stroke
The smiling Boy repeated with his Sword,
Sharp as the [Whirlwind's] Eye: yet fear'd the fight,
And oft drew back, his silver wing born down
By the foul Breath of Malice; till at length
The Monster, rousing in Collected Might,
Shook with his Roar the Earth, and at the Sound
Red Tyranny, and Torture, with his Limbs
Disjoint, and Ignorance that blows the blast
For every Fire, prepar'd each bloody Form
Of Death, and woo'd Destruction for her Wheel.—
Then on the Father dead the dying Son
Implor'd Heavn's Vengence. Execration shrill
Shot from the lurid Flame, and to the Skies
Sail'd with the Speed of Light. The Virgin's Eye
Met the grey Ruffian's, speaking Nature's Fear
Of Death and Pain: the Bigot's stern Reply,
Forbidding Hope, on the affrightned Soul
Flung Terror; till, in pity to the World,
Came Wisdom, whispering to the Ear of power,
And peace arose; and then the Brother wept
A Brother's Death, for distant seem'd his own.
Implor'd Heavn's Vengence. Execration shrill
Shot from the lurid Flame, and to the Skies
Sail'd with the Speed of Light. The Virgin's Eye
Met the grey Ruffian's, speaking Nature's Fear
Of Death and Pain: the Bigot's stern Reply,
Forbidding Hope, on the affrightned Soul
57
Came Wisdom, whispering to the Ear of power,
And peace arose; and then the Brother wept
A Brother's Death, for distant seem'd his own.
And now the Spirit of uneasy Man,
That weds Extreme, and, ever on the Wing
For Wonder, baffles peace, high o'er the Cells
Of monkish Zeal, built with the base remains
The tow'ring Palace of Impiety.
There Jest profane, and Quibbling Mockery
Of all divine grew fast, as from the Earth
Enrich'd Ill-Weeds first spring; and here the Fools,
Of Laughter vain, [despis'd] the Voice of Truth,
And labour'd in the ludicrous obscene.
That weds Extreme, and, ever on the Wing
For Wonder, baffles peace, high o'er the Cells
Of monkish Zeal, built with the base remains
The tow'ring Palace of Impiety.
There Jest profane, and Quibbling Mockery
Of all divine grew fast, as from the Earth
Enrich'd Ill-Weeds first spring; and here the Fools,
Of Laughter vain, [despis'd] the Voice of Truth,
And labour'd in the ludicrous obscene.
To these succeed, and ah! with sad Success,
A Sceptic herd more cool, and fair of form,
And smoothe of Tongue and apt to gloss a Lye
With Semblance strong of Nature and the Truth;
They shine as Serpents, and as Serpents bite,
With poison'd Tooth. Alas! the State of Man,
Or doom'd the Victim of ungovern'd Zeal,
Or led the Captive of unquiet Doubt!—
A Sceptic herd more cool, and fair of form,
And smoothe of Tongue and apt to gloss a Lye
With Semblance strong of Nature and the Truth;
They shine as Serpents, and as Serpents bite,
With poison'd Tooth. Alas! the State of Man,
Or doom'd the Victim of ungovern'd Zeal,
Or led the Captive of unquiet Doubt!—
And now, Eugenio, turn thine Eye, and view
Yon Sire bare-headed to the ruthless Wind,
And heedless of its Force. Upon the Brow
Of yon huge shapeless Ruin, see, he kneels,
And urges the departed Saints who sleep,
To lend a Prayer; Repentance sent him forth,
Her Son, but late th' adopted of her dark
And gloomy Train. Ah! heavy weighs the Crime
Of Murder on his Soul, and haunts his Bed!
And, shrieking by, unseals the Eye of Sleep,
Or scatters on the dark and restless Mind
A thousand sooty Images of Death,
All horrible, and making Guilt's repose
Like to the fearfull rest the Vessell feels
In the dread Chasm of the tempestuous Sea,
Arch'd by the Wave that pauses o'er the Gulph,
While Sea-men urge their momentary prayer,
And with Heart-shrinking Horror view their Grave.
Yon Sire bare-headed to the ruthless Wind,
And heedless of its Force. Upon the Brow
Of yon huge shapeless Ruin, see, he kneels,
And urges the departed Saints who sleep,
To lend a Prayer; Repentance sent him forth,
Her Son, but late th' adopted of her dark
And gloomy Train. Ah! heavy weighs the Crime
Of Murder on his Soul, and haunts his Bed!
And, shrieking by, unseals the Eye of Sleep,
Or scatters on the dark and restless Mind
A thousand sooty Images of Death,
All horrible, and making Guilt's repose
Like to the fearfull rest the Vessell feels
In the dread Chasm of the tempestuous Sea,
58
While Sea-men urge their momentary prayer,
And with Heart-shrinking Horror view their Grave.
But hark, he speaks—attend the Wretches Tale—
Spreading his Soul upon the Wings of Night,
And seeking peace by giving Themes of pain
To the rude Air:
Spreading his Soul upon the Wings of Night,
And seeking peace by giving Themes of pain
To the rude Air:
“Come, all ye little Ills,
“Contempt, and poverty, and pale Disease
“With Dewy Front, and Envy-struck applause
“That sickens on the World, and all of Care
“That shed your daily Drops of bitter Dew
“Upon the Brow of mortal Man, here strike,
“That I may feel your force, and call it Joy,
“So made when weigh'd against the Load that Guilt,
“With leaden Hand, deposits on my Heart,
“And when a momentary Comfort strives,
“Lifted by hope, to spread her downy Wing,
“Dispair, with Icy palm, arrests the Thought,
“And nips the still-born Joy.—
“Contempt, and poverty, and pale Disease
“With Dewy Front, and Envy-struck applause
“That sickens on the World, and all of Care
“That shed your daily Drops of bitter Dew
“Upon the Brow of mortal Man, here strike,
“That I may feel your force, and call it Joy,
“So made when weigh'd against the Load that Guilt,
“With leaden Hand, deposits on my Heart,
“And when a momentary Comfort strives,
“Lifted by hope, to spread her downy Wing,
“Dispair, with Icy palm, arrests the Thought,
“And nips the still-born Joy.—
“To me no more
“The Good I coveted brings Joy, brings peace,
“Or stifles Truth's reproof that will be heard;
“And did I think a base and sordid Heap
“Had in it the Ability to pluck
“The Sting from Guilt, and smother how it came
“In the vile Knowledge that it came to me?
“It was a Madman's Dream—O ye good Gods!
“If Envy knew her Mark, she would beset
“The poor Man's Table and the Shepherd's Hut,
“Unroof'd to the cold Winter's wildest Blast,
“Or the Embay'd Explorers of the Deep,
“At their still howling North; and leave the Throne,
“The Sceptre and the chested Gold to plant
“The Thorn of Care upon the Brow of State,
“On which Distraction drives his plow-share deep,
“And helps the Scythe of Time to wrinkle there.—
“When shall I rest—O! let me, Night, [besiege]
“Thy drowsy Ear with wailing, but be thou
“[Tenacious] of my Guilt; and with her Band
“Let everlasting Silence Tye thy Tongue;
“The pent-up Woe now struggles to o'er-leap
“Murder's Discretion, and with fearfull Speech
“To free the Heart by telling Deeds of Death:
“[Death, Thought's] repose, whom the abhor'd of Man,
“The base assassin, gives, and after longs
“With Lover's Ardour to embrace, be mine,
“And I will yield all Hope of After-Life,
“All Saints have promis'd, and all poets sung—
“Elysium water'd with immortal Streams,
“And gifted with Eternity of peace,
“Balm-breathing Fields, and Bowers of soft repose,
“Walks amaranthine, and the pillowy Moss,
“On Banks where Harpers, to celestial Strings
“Attuning Nature, warble Notes of Love,
“The Anodyne to all-rebellious Thought.—
“The Good I coveted brings Joy, brings peace,
“Or stifles Truth's reproof that will be heard;
“And did I think a base and sordid Heap
“Had in it the Ability to pluck
“The Sting from Guilt, and smother how it came
“In the vile Knowledge that it came to me?
“It was a Madman's Dream—O ye good Gods!
“If Envy knew her Mark, she would beset
“The poor Man's Table and the Shepherd's Hut,
“Unroof'd to the cold Winter's wildest Blast,
“Or the Embay'd Explorers of the Deep,
“At their still howling North; and leave the Throne,
“The Sceptre and the chested Gold to plant
“The Thorn of Care upon the Brow of State,
“On which Distraction drives his plow-share deep,
“And helps the Scythe of Time to wrinkle there.—
59
“Thy drowsy Ear with wailing, but be thou
“[Tenacious] of my Guilt; and with her Band
“Let everlasting Silence Tye thy Tongue;
“The pent-up Woe now struggles to o'er-leap
“Murder's Discretion, and with fearfull Speech
“To free the Heart by telling Deeds of Death:
“[Death, Thought's] repose, whom the abhor'd of Man,
“The base assassin, gives, and after longs
“With Lover's Ardour to embrace, be mine,
“And I will yield all Hope of After-Life,
“All Saints have promis'd, and all poets sung—
“Elysium water'd with immortal Streams,
“And gifted with Eternity of peace,
“Balm-breathing Fields, and Bowers of soft repose,
“Walks amaranthine, and the pillowy Moss,
“On Banks where Harpers, to celestial Strings
“Attuning Nature, warble Notes of Love,
“The Anodyne to all-rebellious Thought.—
“These, for Oblivion, I forego, with these
“Foregoing pain eternal. Why then strive
“From off Life's galling Load to elbow Care,
“When Life and Care may be remov'd together?—
“If I were not a very Coward Wretch,
“A very Shadow of the Man, a thing
“Made to feel Burdens of my Fear, and drag
“A hated Being on—'twere but to leap
“From this rough [Eminence], and all is done—
“All that is done on this Side of the Bier.
“But there, surrounded with impervious Fog,
“Sits Doubt and Questions of the Scenes to come;
“Oh! Death, what moves beyond thee? Fears and Hopes,
“Dread and Confusion, Envy and Disease,
“Sleeping and waking Lusts, War-moving Pride,
“Windy Ambition, and slow Avarice,
“Slay in thy path; within thy Sepulchre
“Mould Dead Men's Bones, feed worms, rust Epitaphs,
“Sleep brainless Skulls in blest Vacuity!
“But what comes then? O for a Seraph's Eye
“That, piercing thro' the Mask of Mortal Things,
“Might scale the cloudless Battlements of Light,
“And in its Immaterial Robe detect
“The Spirit, stript of the encumbring Clay.”—
“Foregoing pain eternal. Why then strive
“From off Life's galling Load to elbow Care,
“When Life and Care may be remov'd together?—
“If I were not a very Coward Wretch,
“A very Shadow of the Man, a thing
“Made to feel Burdens of my Fear, and drag
“A hated Being on—'twere but to leap
“From this rough [Eminence], and all is done—
“All that is done on this Side of the Bier.
“But there, surrounded with impervious Fog,
“Sits Doubt and Questions of the Scenes to come;
“Oh! Death, what moves beyond thee? Fears and Hopes,
“Dread and Confusion, Envy and Disease,
“Sleeping and waking Lusts, War-moving Pride,
“Windy Ambition, and slow Avarice,
“Slay in thy path; within thy Sepulchre
“Mould Dead Men's Bones, feed worms, rust Epitaphs,
“Sleep brainless Skulls in blest Vacuity!
“But what comes then? O for a Seraph's Eye
60
“Might scale the cloudless Battlements of Light,
“And in its Immaterial Robe detect
“The Spirit, stript of the encumbring Clay.”—
Alas, Eugenio! Life, Deception's Child,
Gives us her fairer Side, and gives no more;
The rest we seek in our reflecting View
Of Self, and Guilt's o'erheard Soliloquy.
How smiles the World in pain, and smiles believ'd!
Yon Wretch who, muffled in the Garb of Night,
Gave her the Tortures of a weary Soul,
Meets—may he not?—the jovial Eye of Day,
With a depictur'd Laughter in his Cheek,
Or the smoothe Visage of habitual Ease?
Gives us her fairer Side, and gives no more;
The rest we seek in our reflecting View
Of Self, and Guilt's o'erheard Soliloquy.
How smiles the World in pain, and smiles believ'd!
Yon Wretch who, muffled in the Garb of Night,
Gave her the Tortures of a weary Soul,
Meets—may he not?—the jovial Eye of Day,
With a depictur'd Laughter in his Cheek,
Or the smoothe Visage of habitual Ease?
How have I mourn'd my Lot, as if the Fates
Cull'd me, the vilest from their pitchy Stores
That ere in Mortal Bosom planted Woe,
And pain'd the Care-fraught Soul! I'll grieve no more,
But take it patient with a sober hope,
That soon Distress may vary his assault,
Or soon the Welcome Tomb exclude Distress.—
Cull'd me, the vilest from their pitchy Stores
That ere in Mortal Bosom planted Woe,
And pain'd the Care-fraught Soul! I'll grieve no more,
But take it patient with a sober hope,
That soon Distress may vary his assault,
Or soon the Welcome Tomb exclude Distress.—
But see another Son of Night and Care,
A Shepherd watching o'er his frozen Fold,
Himself benumb'd and murmuring at his Fate.
Sigh not, fond Man; thy bosom only feels
The gentler Blows of Nature, and receives
The Common Visit of Calamity.
A Shepherd watching o'er his frozen Fold,
Himself benumb'd and murmuring at his Fate.
Sigh not, fond Man; thy bosom only feels
The gentler Blows of Nature, and receives
The Common Visit of Calamity.
61
JUVENILIA
[A FAREWELL.]
[1799?]
The hour arrived! I sigh'd and said,
How soon the happiest hours are fled!
On wings of down they lately flew,
But then their moments pass'd with you;
And still with you could I but be,
On downy wings they'd always flee.
How soon the happiest hours are fled!
On wings of down they lately flew,
But then their moments pass'd with you;
And still with you could I but be,
On downy wings they'd always flee.
Say, did you not, the way you went,
Feel the soft balm of gay content?
Say, did you not all pleasures find,
Of which you left so few behind?
I think you did: for well I know
My parting prayer would make it so.
Feel the soft balm of gay content?
Say, did you not all pleasures find,
Of which you left so few behind?
I think you did: for well I know
My parting prayer would make it so.
“May she,” I said, “life's choicest goods partake;
“Those, late in life, for nobler still forsake—
“The bliss of one, th' esteem'd of many live,
“With all that Friendship would, and all that Love can give!”
“Those, late in life, for nobler still forsake—
“The bliss of one, th' esteem'd of many live,
“With all that Friendship would, and all that Love can give!”
63
[A HUMBLE INVOCATION.]
[1780.]
When summer's tribe, her rosy tribe, are fled,
And drooping beauty mourns her blossoms shed,
Some humbler sweet may cheer the pensive swain,
And simpler beauties deck the withering plain.
And thus, when Verse her wintry prospect weeps,
When Pope is gone, and mighty Milton sleeps,
When Gray in lofty lines has ceased to soar,
And gentle Goldsmith charms the town no more,
An humbler Bard the widow'd Muse invites,
Who led by hope and inclination writes;
With half their art, he tries the soul to move,
And swell the softer strain with themes of love.
| Poems (1905) | |